


Trouble Finds You (And By You They Mean Shawn)

by dragonnan



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst and Humor, Best Friends, Early Work, Friendship, Gen, Gus is the Freaking Best, Next Time DUCK!, Shawn Has an Owwie, Trouble Finds Shawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: Shawn can't seem to avoid chaos. Thank goodness Gus is there with a shovel to clean him off the floor.





	

“What in the hell... HEY, LOOK OUT!”

 

Shawn spun, the rolling sound he'd been hearing as he'd walked disappearing, replaced by a very ominous silence. One flash of an image ' _a grinning devil surrounded by green flames_ ' and pain hammered through his scalp. His body collided with concrete seconds later, chin rapping hard enough to clip his teeth together on his tongue. He didn't quite black out, but he was thoroughly dazed and only slightly aware of panicked shouts followed by running feet. Running away.

 

“Mmmph...” He gagged, spitting a mouthful of blood and winced at how much that action hurt. Not wanting to writhe in place all night, he carefully tried rolling to his back – only to shout at the burning agony in his right shoulder. Sweat turned to frozen beads on his temples as he stiffened his body. Something was broken – he recognized that sensation. Carefully moving his left hand, he slid it towards the source of pain, whimpering as he touched the lump on his collar bone. Well that was one he hadn't busted before. Nor was that thought a comfort.

 

It took a second, but he eventually remembered that he'd meant to stand up. Probably shouldn't have rolled onto his back cause this was gonna suck.

 

It ached to steady his right arm with his left, but pushing himself back to his side with his foot tugged a shaking wail from his chest. What was it with snack runs ending up with him on the ground and in pain? And this time he hadn't even reached the frozen lemonade stand. Nor did it help that the guy was an additional twenty yards down the boardwalk and facing the other way. The Psych office was a whole foot closer, so it wasn't hard to make a choice as to which direction to go. Of course the whole standing thing was still an issue. Wasn't it illegal to skateboard on a walking path? Although that jump would have been pretty impressive if it hadn't landed on his face.

 

Given the time of evening and the lack of pedestrians, Shawn calculated that the unlikelihood of being discovered was 'pretty damn'. And even if he did somehow attract attention, with his current run of luck it wouldn't be an all female volleyball team but members of the Polar Bear Club on holiday.

 

Still more or less in motion, he let gravity roll him the rest of the way so he could concentrate on whining. His face felt wet, and since he had to let go of his arm to push up anyhow, he wiped his knuckles across his chin, grunting at the sting, and then making another sound of distress at the blood smeared on the back of his hand. Tentative prodding revealed a split chin, split lip, bloody nose, and kumquat sized swelling on his temple. Fabulous, he'd always wanted to look like character from Bloodsport.

 

Much as he wanted to milk this whole lying on the boardwalk like a discarded paper bag thing, it wasn't conducive to comfort. Or pity – though he might have to actually be dying to get that one and last he'd heard, broken collarbones weren't life threatening.

 

Committed now to additional torture, Shawn planted his left hand against the ground and pulled his other arm against his waist. Chest hitching with every motion, he groaned and whimpered as he worked his knees beneath him. It wasn't until he was actually pushing upright that he felt a new burn in his right ankle. Too late to stop and like hell he planned to collapse a second time, he clenched his teeth and forced himself vertical.

 

One step back towards the office and he was already reconsidering just staying in one spot and screaming for help. However, he was not a baby – he could do this – tough it out in manly fashion.

 

He took another step – this one on his injured ankle – and took back his manly assertion when little baby tears glazed across his eyes. “Mmm...” His breathing grew all hitchy again with every lurching wobble, his right arm clutched tightly, throwing off his balance. It was the hundred meter dash in sixth grade all over again – though this time Billy Ferguson wasn't running behind him trying to pull down his shorts. That would have been preferable.

 

The thirty second walk became five minutes and then ten. It crossed over into fifteen as he was digging for his key and leaning against the doorjamb, one side of his body hunched and sloping. Once inside he headed for his desk – intending to grab the ph... dammiiiiit! He swept the room with his eyes, first looking towards Gus's desk, and then moving on to other easily examined surfaces. No good. “DAMMIT!!”

 

He hobbled towards the Elliptical first, clutching the machine to peer inside. Nope, not there. Thank goodness, cause Gus had sworn to Indian burn both his arms as well as his legs if he ever put it _there_ again.

 

When had he used it last? His eyes closed, thinking back over the last few days. Hmm... talked to Jules, talked to the Chief, talked to dad, then Lassy, then Jules again, then Jules again, then Gus, then dad called and... His eyes snapped open and he limped towards the fridge. Grabbing the handle, he held himself steady as he peered above it. There – the edge of the casing could be seen jutting from the mostly empty box of S'mores Pop Tarts. Bracing his hip on the door, he snagged the phone and bumped a button with his thumb. “DAMN!” Dead. Of course it hadn't helped that he'd stuck it on mute during his last conversation before leaving it in the box. Why have a mute button if you couldn't use it to avoid annoying conversations after all?

 

Dropping it back in the box, he grabbed a Pop Tart and opened it with his teeth before gimping to the couch. Okay, watch TV for a while or look for his cell? It did actually require some thought considering a new episode of the Mentalist was on, but given the risk to his pitching arm, he finally opted for maintaining his health over mindless zoning.

 

Another brief bit of recall and he angled for the bowl of Good & Plenty's on his desk. Aha! Oh bonus, he still had half his battery life! Chewing a mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow, Shawn dialed one handed. Then, while the line started to ring, he headed back towards the couch – sweat once more breaking across his forehead.

 

He was very careful to back himself to the cushion. He made certain there were no remote controls or plates of dried food in his path. He unfortunately, however, misjudged the distance between his butt and the cushion. His shout had quite a bit of scream to it as the bad landing jarred every bone in his body – including the ones no longer solid.

 

“ _Shawn!? Shawn, what happened??”_

 

Damn, right, Gus.

 

“Nothing...” Gus miiight have bought that if his voice hadn't squeaked into prepubescent soprano octaves. He gasped through a few more panic-laden questions, finding that it was more fun toying with oxygen than accommodating those damn tears threatening to fall all over again. Alright, so a few slipped free, but he wasn't crying – he'd just had a minor overload – like when he yawned too hard.

 

His mouth tasted like chocolaty blood, his face felt like it had been doused in essence of habanero peppers, and the rest of his body ping ponged pain back and forth between his ankle and shoulder.

 

“ _Shawn, if you called because you saw another spider I will end you!”_

 

“It wasn't... a spider...” He still looked around the floor just in case – no point in taking chances. “And you... keep saying... 'Shawn, I will end you', but you and I both... know it's an... empty threat.” His Gus voice had been a little hollow but it had still been better than Gus's Gus voice.

 

“ _I told you I don't sound like that, Shawn! And why are you breathing so hard?”_

 

Shawn twisted, but the motion didn't help his shoulder one bit. He bit his lip before remembering it was also damaged and whimpered at his multitude of hurts. “I may have... hurt myself a... little.”

 

“ _A little? How much is a little, Shawn?”_ That was his 'don't you dare lie to me, Shawn' voice. Though not intimidating in timbre, the warning behind it was definitely frightening. Gus may make empty threats but in a case like this, there would be domestic violence level penalties.

 

“Oh... broken bones, some... blood loss, the usual...” His throat jerked up and down and his eyes 'watered' again in spite of the casual tone he pulled.

 

Nor did his words go down so well with Gus. He probably should have gone a bit lighter on the reveal. But damn it his body hurt and the only kind of waffling he wanted to deal with was the kind that came smothered in syrup and powdered sugar.

 

“ _You broke your bones!? Shawn...!”_

 

His arm was starting to ache from holding the phone so he dropped it to his lap – Gus's voice turning squeaky at that distance but still discernible. After a second he frowned at something that was said.

 

“It was so not my fault!” He shouted towards the speaker. Another short spat accompanied by a snort and Shawn tolerated the ache to bring the phone back to his ear. “There were some kids...”

 

“ _You got beat up by kids?”_ He heard the sound of Gus opening the door to his car along with the less than sympathetic question.

 

“No!” Wincing, then whining at the way the broken edges of his collar bone shifted, he felt around beside him until he could locate the remote. It even stung to turn the TV on, but it was a necessary hurt. If he had to sit here and wait for Gus, he sure wasn't going to be bored in the meantime. Especially not bored and all shiny-eyed.

 

“ _Dude, do I need to assign you a buddy to get snacks?”_

 

Shawn grinned. “What do you... mean? Aren't you... my buddy?” He dropped down the volume on the plasma. Apparently somebody had left it on high when they'd been playing Rock Band. Okay, so could he be blamed for wanting a truly authentic experience?

 

“ _I'm starting to think it takes more than one keeper to look after you. Speaking of which, did you call your dad yet?”_

 

“Are you serious?” He sniffed, flipping a few channels until his attention was caught by a video of a crocodile attacking its trainer. Cool. He winced, but continued to watch as the guy's arm was first clamped by rows of teeth, then twisted as the animal rolled. Shawn bared his teeth sympathetically as the man screamed. “I feel ya there, dude.”

 

“ _If you don't I will. You remember what happened the last time you had a near death experience? And you weren't even hurt that time.”_

 

Gus and his points. Another shift in the hopeless search for comfort and Shawn gasped – the bones wrenching – heat blazing through his chest and forcing him to drop the remote. He didn't hear it clatter to the floor, his attention wrapped up in shuddering. Not crying though – that was just sweat.

 

“ _Shawn?”_

 

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve before returning the phone to his ear. “Yeah?” Wow, could he _sound_ more like he was blubbering?

 

“ _Look, I'll be there in about five more minutes – but you should really call your dad.”_

 

He scrubbed his eyes again and sniffed, swallowing and grimacing at the slick, sweet taste seeping from his badly bitten tongue. “Later.”

 

Reduced to single words, he only responded when Gus asked a direct question. Okay, he sometimes skipped those too – choosing to grunt instead.

 

Literally five minutes later – literal insomuch as Shawn hadn't actually been sitting with a stopwatch in his hand – the lights from Gus's car passed across the window as he parked. Glad to drop the arm still holding his phone, Shawn scrubbed once more before Gus entered the office. He couldn't do much about the hitching breaths however.

 

“Shawn...?” Gus found him fairly easily – the TV was still on after all. Shawn only dared move his eyes to prove to his friend he wasn't actually dead, in spite of how he probably looked.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Oh my God...” Hurrying with an envious lack of pain, Gus made for the kitchen – rustling around for a minute before returning with a damp cloth, a glass of water, and a couple of pills.

 

“Unless- unless those are... Vicodin... they won't do a... lot of g-good.” He sniffed again, and felt his cheeks warm as he rubbed his fist across his eyes again.

 

“I don't have Vicodin, Shawn.”

 

Taking the pills in spite of the fact that they looked suspiciously like baby aspirin, Shawn swallowed them with water before accepting the wet cloth. The cold felt nice on his face, but the rough texture was a different story. It was getting to be very hard to control his overtaxed tear ducts.

 

While he held the towel against his lip, Gus flipped open his phone and dialed. Shawn immediately dropped his hand, hissing as it jerked his shoulder.

 

“Dude, are you call... mm... calling my dad?”

 

“I'm calling an ambulance you idiot. You know, someone you should have called yourself?”

 

“Oh.” Dipping his head at the wisdom behind that move, Shawn returned the towel to his lip – still sniffling. After a few moments of talking, Gus hung up, and then immediately redialed.

 

“Now I'm calling your dad.”

 

“Guuus!” No way to wrestle the phone away – not if he wanted to stop sniveling. Didn't mean he wouldn't try. One swipe – Gus not even attempting to step back – and Shawn hollered in high-pitched agony.

 

“Shawn!”

 

“ _What's wrong with Shawn!?”_ Even hunched over on the couch and crying – yes, he would admit it this time – he could still hear his dad's voice shouting through the phone's speaker.

 

Gus sat next to him, still speaking to Henry while he placed one hand on Shawn's back. Meanwhile Shawn covered his eyes with one hand, no longer caring as the moisture leaked past his fingers to patter on the floor.

 

After a short amount of time another vehicle pulled into the parking lot – this time it was the ambulance. Paramedics entered the office and checked Shawn over – one of them gently touching his shoulder to evaluate Shawn's collarbone. He whimpered, but held himself stiffly until the exam was done. The whole time, Gus remained beside him – answering the standard questions so Shawn wouldn't have to speak.

 

“Can you stand?”

 

That was the first question Shawn figured Gus wouldn't be able to answer. He nodded, then sucked a hard breath as even that motion tore pain through him. With a medic on either side, he slowly rose from the couch.

 

He wobbled a lot more than when he'd first come into the office. Sitting for about forty minutes or so in pain, coupled with exhaustion, had drained the adrenaline he'd used to get him through the first quarter of an hour. Several hobbled steps got him as far as the end of the couch – at which point he was forced to stop. His breathing was more ragged simply from the strain of moving.

 

“Sir, why not let us get a stretcher.”

 

“No, I can...”

 

Gus cut him off. “Please do. He'll just end up hurting himself more before admitting he needs help.”

 

Well just wasn't true at all! He'd called Gus hadn't he? “Dude... you know that isn't...”

 

“Shawn, you called me instead of an ambulance, so don't even start with that jibber jabber.” At this point, Gus had taken his left arm and allowed him to lean against him while the two medics hurried out to get the stretcher.

 

“Gus...”

 

“Shawn, don't be stupid.”

 

Shawn pinched his friend on the elbow – realizing after the fact that Gus would have been fully justified in dropping him. He nearly did – squeaking and twisting, slapping at the fingers abusing his flesh.

 

“Dude, what the heck are you doing!”

 

Shawn dropped his eyes, pulling the most contrite expression he could muster – no doubt heightened to abused puppy levels with the pain he was in.

 

“Thanks Gus.”

 

Gus sighed, but his arm still tightened around Shawn's waist in a clear half hug. “Any time buddy. Any time.”


End file.
